Not Quite 20 Questions
by The Cold East Wind
Summary: Sherlock has questions after things happen. Or don't happen.


John gestures for Sherlock to move closer as he bent his knees and moved forward, Sherlock mirrored John's movements so that they were side by side Johns left knee pressed against Sherlock's right. They sat there for how long John was not sure. Silent. Foreheads resting together, Sherlock's tears soft and steady, his eyes down cast. His mind swirling with new information repeating over and over, not ready, not ready. Sherlock's breathing had become a little shallow and his pulse thudded wildly. But John was patient as the grave. He waited, and Sherlock eventually relaxed into him.

"What are you afraid of?" John's words were calming and low.

"John you just can't keep asking me questions."

"Sherlock, the game is over. Now tell me what you're afraid of. Please." John wrapped his left arm around both of Sherlock's knees, bringing them even closer still, sharing each other's air.

"This, of losing this. And losing you. I can't. I'd go mad." Sherlock tried to shake his head. John placed a steadying hand on his neck, and lets his thumb draw soothing little circles on Sherlock's jawline and earlobe.

"And here I was thinking you were clever. You can't lose me. Nothing in this world could make me leave you. And even if this is all we have, as far as this goes, I'm fine with that too. And I'll still be here." John searched Sherlock's face for reaction as best he could due to their close proximity.

Sherlock slowly lifted his head to look at John. Their noses almost touching. "You would want...more then this?" Sherlock's baritone was thick.

John closed his eyes and moved in closer still, sliding his hand further up the back of Sherlock's neck, fingers smoothly tangled in his curls. Sherlock's eyes drifted closed and he tilted his head back into John's hand, he lost his breath in a rush of cognac scented heat against John's parted lips. John took in Sherlock's heat.

"How could you not know how much I want you?" John bumped Sherlock's nose, cheek, lips with shadow kisses that weren't and hot ragged give and take. It was all John could do not to dig his hands into Sherlock's curls and devour him.

"Kiss me." It was a plea. The need to have John's lips was aching.

"Oh God Sherlock. " John was panting, and now he did fist his hand in the dark curls. He tugged Sherlock's head gently. John hesitated, and rubbed the stubble of the day against Sherlock's smoother cheek.

"Please John." Sherlock whimpered the words pressed at the corner of John's mouth. It was too much. John's chest hurt. John dropped his left knee and pulled Sherlock close with with both hands twined in his curls. The kiss. John didn't know how long they stayed lost together. He didn't know when Sherlock's hands had found their way up under his jumper, his larger hands splayed against John's rib cage with Sherlock beneath him.

Sherlocks eyes sparkled with a quality that only long pent up desire can manifest. He was lovely. Eyes like jewels, curls beautifully disheveled, lips hot and pink smiled up at John.

"We have to stop." John's chest heaved, his whole body felt taunt and hot, his arms shook from trying to keep his body aloft for fear that contact would be his undoing.

"No, we don't." Sherlock purred the words and pulled John down to rest the length of his body against Sherlock's hard frame. Desire like John had never know hammered throughout his body, his blood boiled and his cock ached.

"Sherlock, please." John rested his head in the curve of Sherlock's neck near tears his need was so great. "Please." Sherlock could hear the ache in John's voice and made to sit up.

"Ok. Alright. Why?" Sherlock tried to steady his breath and pushed back and up against one of the chairs. John flipped over on his back and reached up on the sofa for a pillow to lay over his crotch, his eyes closed trying to remember how to breathe normally.

"Because now I'm the one afraid." John pinched to bridge of his nose.

"So this isn't what you want?" John could hear the shaky fear in Sherlock's voice. He sat up slowly, a little upset with himself for allowing Sherlock to doubt his feeling if even for a second.

"Sherlock..." John began slowly, still in a fog of desire.

"It's fine John. I completely understand." Sherlock's chin jutted up and John could read the barely checked hurt in his eyes. He made to stand and John reached out grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down and he moved back in close.

"No you don't understand. It's not at all what you think." John took Sherlock's large hand in both of his. He looked down at the surprisingly delicate fingers and loved the dichotomy that was Sherlock Holmes. Male surly, yet some how not. Too graceful, and prim to be just a man. And far far too pretty. "I'm afraid that this is...overwhelming. I don't know, maybe moving too fast. And I literally don't want to hurt you."

Sherlock listened to John's explanation and realized he was being quiet literal.

"Oh." Sherlock's eyes widen as a mind palace image of a naked John sprang to mind. Sherlock had seen John naked before, but far too briefly for Sherlock to have all the information to make a proper deduction. He needed more data. "Alright then. My turn."

"What?" John asked with more announce then he'd intended.

"I have questions. 20, to be exact." Sherlock was smooth and calm. Outwardly. Inside he was a tangle of long lost and intriguing things that only John could help him redefine.

John's body was still screaming with need and he was incredibly uncomfortable. But he knew that Sherlock really did have questions, what had just past between them was no small thing and if Sherlock was willing to address it John wasn't going to be foolish enough to miss the opportunity to make their feelings for each other clear.

"Fine. But we're going to need more scotch." John gestured for Sherlock to go make a new selection. With a raised eyebrow the younger man took off. Sherlock came back with a bottle of Macallan Sherrywood 40 year old single malt scotch that cousin Brandabas was sure to miss. Sherlock sank back down on the floor across from John in the same manner as before. Toes brushing waist band. He pored a rock glass for John one for himself and settled in.

"You're not gay." Sherlock said matter of factly.

"That's not a question." John spoke over the rim of his glass. Sherlock huffed.

1\. Have you ever found a man attractive?

"Yes." John knew that this was a serious topic but he couldn't help a bit of cheek. After all turn about was far play. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. John tried not to chuckle. He failed.

2\. Attractive as in, he looks good in a suit or he'd look good out of a suit?

"Why a suit?" John grinned.

"Answer the question." Sherlock ignored John's jab.

"The second one." John answered flatly before he drank.

"You're bi." Sherlock said slowly more to himself nodding as he took a sip.

"Also not a question. You're really not very good at this are you?" Sherlock swatted John's leg.

3\. What are you afraid of?

"I find kangaroos disturbing."

"John! Be serious." Sherlock was getting frustrated with John.

"I'm sorry love. I'm a little drunk. I already told you, I'm afraid of hurting you."

4\. Emotionally?

"Never."

5\. You mean physically pain?

"Yes."

Sherlock understood John's answer, obviously but it didn't translate to the full meaning.

6\. When you see us together physically, what do you see?

"Bloody hell Sherlock! Don't be shy then." John nearly choked to death on the spot.

"You're a doctor, think in clinical terms." Sherlock said decisively. John laughed. "What could you possibly find funny?"

"The fact that you think the things I want to do to you can be defined in clinical terms."

"Is sex this complicated for you with women?"

"Is that one of your 20, or have we decided to have a normal conversation?" All sass.

"Irrelevant. Answer the question." Sherlock was a bit edgy.

"No, it's not this complicated because roles are clearly defined. I know what's expected of me, my partner, and the basic out come." John took a drink and was glad for the scotch running boldly through his vains. He was past the point of modesty.

"Alright. Previous question." A bit of confidence back in place.

"What do I see?" John looked at the amber liquid swirl in his glass and fixed Sherlock with storm cloud blue eyes. "I see your knees draped over my shoulders while I reach places in you that you don't even know exist." Sherlock's face blanched. "I see you beneath me completely undone. I see the moonlight on your naked skin as I watch you sleep."

"I don't sleep." Sherlock interjected aiming for audacious, but came off sounding, breathy and enthralled. He sipped to distract himself.

"Oh Kitten, you will when I'm done with you." John arched a confident blond brow and took a drink.

"You're awfully cocky." Sherlock's choice of words made John laugh.

"My point exactly." John licked his lips and gave Sherlock a look that was just shy of sex itself.

"So then I am correct in my deduction that you or rather your...that is to say you have...ah...a." Sherlock stammered.

"Is the word your searching for large or cock?"

Sherlock's face deepened to a rose color. English rose, John thought. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"John I think we need to be clear." Sherlock swallowed a mouthful of scotch before he went on. "I am no shrinking violet, or some milksop afraid of a little pain. I know what I want. And all that it entails. That should put our roles into perspective for you." Sherlock had moved steady closer while he spoke and had dropped his voice to that ridiculously low resister that John could feel resonate throughout his body.

When you set alcohol on fire it burns away. John had been set on fire by Sherlock's words and all of cousin Brandabas excessively fine scotch was scorched away in an instant. Sherlock's eyes were intensely focused on John and the sobering reality of Sherlock's words sat in. John backend to Sherlock and again they closed the space between them, touching in that whispered way that was and wasn't all at once on the edge sweet beautiful painful madness. John eased his hands into the wild blackness of curls and coaxed Sherlock's head back gently, John rubbed his lips against the freckled length of Sherlock's neck and fell in love all over again when Sherlock moaned his name in away John had never heard it spoken before. It was love and thanks and trust layered with desire. It was everything.

It wasn't long before clothes were scattered and warm naked bodies intertwined. John expertly finding all of Sherlock's pint up lust. And Sherlock, lavishly explored the man he had been denied for far too long.

The fire that had burned along with them all evening had died down to nothing but embers, and now left a soft blue light streaming in from the skylight above, casting snowflake shadows on Sherlock's naked back as he slept. John did as he'd said he would and watched the shadows dance and float on the pale canvas before him. John longs to touch the man in front of him and had to laugh at his restraint. John had love bites on his shoulders and chest and Sherlock wore corresponding ones of his own, for John to be hesitant to touch was absurd. And so he trailed his fingers over several vertebrae before his subject shivered and turned.

"John. What are you doing?" Sleepy eyed and beautiful.

"Waiting." John gave a sideways smile.

Sherlock reached out to touch John's left shoulder.

"Waiting for what exactly?" Sherlock purred suggestively, and flung the blanket off his naked body. John laughed, but couldn't help but notice the rose hues of arousal of Sherlock's skin.

"Not that you harlot. You have fourteen more questions." John tried not to be drawn in by Sherlock's hand now sliding down his own long frame casually brushing his fingers over his cock and casting John a hot look that he was becoming rapidly familiar with. "On second thought, maybe you're right, the questions can wait." Halfway to a kiss already.

"I'm always right Jo..." And John smothered Sherlock's words with that kiss.


End file.
